The following story is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to accurately depict, nor reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story by law. This is fiction. Do not forget, in real life, to think about 'sexual safety matter'; got condom?
"Out In The Wild, Wild West" 35 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
% "Nice little group we've got here."
Captain Domingo stood, fully dressed in his captain's garb, looking upon the lastest of captives. All except the one who got away, Steve Connors. Even with their injuries, via the torture they received from Jason Schmidt, Artemis Gordon and Pedro Gonzalez stood against the wall, their arms chained above their heads. The center of Gordon's hairy chest had an `X' permanently affixed from Jason's hand, a little bon voyage gift. Pedro, his nips bearing the remnants of the stretching torture, clamped with razor sharp toothed implements, his navel reddened, still bearing the hardened hot wax, his balls swollen, the leather lace still intact, hung in the balance of the captains orders.
Hoping to recamp the good graces of Captain Domingo, twenty-nine year old figured bringing in the most wanted man, of importance to the captain, would ignite a new found friendship. However, that idea backfired, placing him in chains with the others. One reprieve, instead of being sold into slavery, the captain willed he be given to Ferdinand Camisa, the captain's new first mate.
In the center of the dungeon-like chamber of the sailing vessel, suspended from the ceiling, by chains, thirty-seven year old Bart Tartarello hung. His wrists cuffed and outspread, as his legs, the totally bare former pub owner kept alert. Several facts remained against his favor. Two stood in front of himself, chained to the wall, Artemis Gordon and Pedro Gonzalez. Sold to Captain Domingo, with their bodies dressed, the captain figured he was getting some prime, resaleable slave material. With Tartarello on his way, the stripping of the two bodies, revealed hardly the worth Captain Domingo divvied out.
"First, Mr. Camisa, let us handle the matter of the fee I paid this scum for these worthless slaves," Captain Domingo pondered the question, talking to his right hand man.
Standing at five feet, nine inches tall, one hundred and sixty-five pounds, the twenty-seven year old first officer stood behind the eagle-spread captive.
"I suggest you tell me where I can find that fee, Bart?"
Standing there in front of the stripped body, Captain Domingo held a thick leather strap, doubled in half. As he spoke, he scraped the front of Bart's body, starting with his pecs, purposely skimming over his nips, then down the center of the dark brown haired stomach, dropping it to his cock. Without breaking the glance into Bart's eyes, the captain stretched his arm out, handing the whipping inplement to Ferdinand.
"You'll get nothing from me!"
"Mr. Camisa," Ferdinand takes the strap, "twenty-five lashes to start."
As Ferdinand circled around behind Bart's bound body, Captain Domingo walked away. His steps brought him closer to Pedro's body. Seeing the purplish, swollen nips, he reached out both hands, mashing them nastily.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" Pedro screamed out in pain.
"Hmm, looks like we still have some play left in these. Would make some good entertainment for the crew."
Pedro, protested, promising the captain vast sums of money for his release, but the man in charge wouldn't hear of it. Meanwhile, standing behind Bart Tartarello, Ferdinand began readying himself for the whipping. Part of the ploy, which Captain Domingo very well understood of the concept, Ferdinand took his time. Setting the strap down for a moment, the Hispanic very slowly unfastened each button of his shirt. After that, he carefully removed it, folding it nicely. A master of various implements of delivering pain, he expertly snapped the leather strap against itself, creating a loud cracking sound. First Bart had a taste of the visual, then the aural, behind his back. Most likely the addition of both visual and aural is what caused the bear to sweat so profusely.
"Are we all warmed up, Mr. Camisa."
"Yes, sir. Waiting for your go ahead, sir."
"You may commence with the punishment and Mr. Camisa?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Stop after five and we'll give the prisoner a chance to change his mind."
"Yes, sir."
Ferdinand enjoyed the feel of the leather strap in his hand. He had purchased it in Spain about a year ago. It hasn't seen too much action, but the use the he's gotten out of it, has given him enough expertise to master the handling of the leather implement for means of extracting a loud vocal performance. After rubbing his hand over Bart's upper shoulders and back, he stood back. From his hand, where the strap wrapped around once, he let it trail back. Positioning his feet `just so', he readied to deliver the first stroke. Standing back, Ferdinand leaned way back, his right shoulder stretching behind himself. With a mighty heave, he threw the leather whip the lengthwise of Bart's back.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" Bart cried out.
Stinging his shoulder, right down the middle of his back, the leather strap fell away, leaving a red mark.
"That the best you can do, Mr. Camisa?"
"Um, no sir."
"Put something into it this time, Mr. Camisa!"
"Yes, sir."
Breathing heavy, Bart readied himself for the next stroke. This time Ferdinand wouldn't disappoint the captain. As before, he sought out the area to strike. This time, he stood a bit to Bart's left, a few feet leeway. With the strap in his right hand Ferdinand took a running leap. Striking Bart on the left side of his back, the strap wound around his body, slapping him on part of his stomach.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" Bart cried out, arching his back for the second time.
Captain Domingo wasn't the only one rubbing his crotch, after the second impact. Two of the other seamen, whom stood nearby, had been enjoying the spectacle as well.
"Much better, Mr. Camisa."
"Thank you, sir. Let's make the next three quick ones?"
"Yes, sir."
Without the fuss of pinpointing place of impact, Ferdinand drew the leather strap back, hurling it once, again mid-back region, then twice over the shoulder. Each time Bart cried out in extreme pain.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk! AkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkBASTARD! Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!"
Nodding to one of the other seamen, the sea captain had one approach the wet, sweating body. He reached up, under Bart's right armpit, behind his body and grabbed his head of hair. He snapped Bart's head up from his chin lying against his chest.
"Ready to talk Tartarello?"
For it's worth, Captain Domingo wiped the spit from his face.
"Continue Mr. Camisa."
"Yes, sir!" Ferdinand replied, in a more excited state.
After about thirty more lashes, Bart seemed readying on passing out.
"I think he's had enough, captain."
"He'll have enough when I'm good and ready to say so, Mr. Camisa."
"Yes, sir."
Taking the doubled in half leather torturing tool in his hand, Ferdinand let the slack out. He himself, as with Bart, sweated profusely from the workout, hurling it against the red, welted back of the prisoner.
"Enough, Mr. Camisa," Captain Domingo replied.
"Yes, sir."
Off to the side, Captain Domingo chats with Ferdinand.
"We set sail a week from today, Mr. Camisa. I don't intend on leaving port without my money."
"Yes, sir."
"However, let's take it nice and slow. I'm really getting such pleasure out of watching you torture Bart."
"Thank you sir. I'll take that as a compliment."
"By all means, Ferdinand. Now what of John Toles and the escaped slave?"
"I have some men searching for them, sir."
"You do understand the consequences, if they are not found, Ferdinand?"
"Yes, sir."
Ferdinand knew all too well what the outcome of not finding both of them. He didn't intend on receiving a set of lashes across his own back, so employed every method he could figure, in having the two turn up. As a safeguard, he also set in motion means by making an escape of his own, just in case.
"You've worked hard, putting on an excellent show, Ferdinand. After chaining the prisoners in their cells, why don't you take the rest of the day off?"
"Thanks you sir."
The wry smile on the captain's face gave Ferdinand an indication of the quality time intended. Taking Bart down, they took him to a cell. Settling him on a thin mattress, they chained him once again, eagle-spread, lying faced down.
"Hey, Ferdi?"
"Yeah, Otto?"
"You teach me how to punish with strap?"
"Sure, but you'll have to find your own boy. I'm sure the captain wouldn't want us touching these men."
"I find boy," the six foot, two inch German replied. "I know boy down at pub."
"You know the rules, Otto. Make sure he's `unattached'?"
"Oh yes. I talk with him already. I know he is alone."
"Young, is he?"
"Eighteen years old."
"Good age. At the same time, I'll show you how to break and train him."
"Nice. Thank you, Ferdi."
"Hey, you know I don't do this without something in return, Otto?"
The twenty-eight year old smooth German hunk knew the price. However, at the time of payment, he would really think whether he wanted to give up his cherry or not!
%
"Oooh, what a tight squeeze you are, Steve."
"Hey, you aren't the only one getting the benefit, John."
"Ooooh fuck yeah! Hot cock massage!"
With one hand on Steve Connor's shoulder, the twenty-eight year old backed out and then pulled slowly back in, pressuring Steve's shoulder, as the catalyst to slide back in to the tight ass chute. With his ass high in the air, Steve, doggie style, groaned, his prostrate activated, giving him as much pleasure of the massaging action. After thirty minutes or so, working up a hot sweat, John pulled out, slapping his bitch on the ass.
"Over on your back, Steve."
"Yes, sir."
"That's a start, Steve."
"Start?"
"Yeah. Figured I'd try your ass out first, before I begin training you."
"Training me?"
"Hey, you can go back to Captain Domingo's ship and be sold off as a slave, if you don't want to become mine, Steve."
"Be a slave?"
"Oh course. You knew that when you were on board ship, didn't you?"
Steve lay there. Sure, he knew he when Bart sold him to Captain Domingo that he would be incarcerated at sea. However, he figured he would become a ship's hand.
"No. I had no idea. I figured I would become like one of the seamen."
"Un-uh, Steve. You would have been trained in the ship's dungeon and then when Captain Domingo pulled into each port, he would offer you up for sale to the highest bidder."
"I had no idea."
Lying there on the bed, the forty-two year old sat on his ass, his hands propping him up.
"Well, then this doubly leaves me thankful for you helping me to escape, John... I mean sir."
Suddenly John Toles' plan began to diminish in size. At first he thought of how nice it would be to have a slave around. He'd never have to pick up a thing, not that his abode dictated the atmosphere of `neat as a pin'. However old memories began to cloud his thoughts. Those of never having a father and wanting one, so desperately, as a youth.
"On second thought, why don't you call me John.. that is..."
"What.... John?"
"If I... I know this sounds silly, Steve, but would you mind if I called you... dad?"
"Dad, John?"
Walking forward on his knees, Steve automatically pulled his legs up, to position himself to accept John's 9.5c.
"No, put your legs down for a minute....'dad'."
With hearing the term of endearment, Steve recollected thoughts of his own.
"Hee hee... reminds me of my own son."
"You have a son?"
"Yeah. Stormy. He's nineteen years old and like us."
"Like us? How does that go, Steve... I mean dad."
"I guess it will take awhile for you unlearn what ya call me, huh... son?"
Moving Steve's legs to the side, John lay down next to Steve. Unlike father and son, he pressed his lips up against his `father'. Mashing their hairy chests together, Steve ran his hands up and down the young guy's back. However, the more John moved around, grinding his body against Steve's the more it stimulated his cock. Sooner than later, John would need to continue where he left off.
%
"So, the chain just happened to come off of the commode?" Jim questioned the crowd of boys.
"Well? It was that or falling into the tub!" Johnny told the story.
"I have a feeling there's more to this than you boys are letting on," Jim asked, his arms folded across his barechest. "None the less, what's done is done."
"Jim?"
"Yes, Sean?"
With g-u-i-l-t `written' all over his face, the nineteen year old walked up to the agent. Hands in his lining of the back of his pants, he looked at the floor then at Jim.
His brother, Braedon, prodded, "If you've got something to say little brother, then say it!"
"I'm getting there, okay?"
After clearing his throat, with all eyes on the two, Sean replies, "Well you see, Jim. It's really my fault that this all happened."
"Not true!" Johnny shot out with.
With his palm over his shoulder, not looking, but shushing Johnny, Sean says, "Just shut the fuck up for a minute, okay?"
"I will not shut the fuck up!" Johnny replied. Stepping up to the ranks, standing in front of Jim, he states, "It's just as much my fault that I started tickling him and..."
"No, but if I hadn't been such a wise ass sprayed you with my...."
Cutting off his own statement, Sean didn't want to say what he had done, back off on the story, as it unfolded. Now both boys remained silent, as if saying more would embarrass them.
"Spray? You wouldn't be talking about yellow spray, now would you Sean?"
"Eeeeewwwwe!" Braedon called out. "How can you stoop to so low, little brother, as to shoot your piss onto another guy?"
"It was just a joke, Brae!"
"A joke? You call burning down Jim West's home a joke?"
"How was we to know that he had all these doojicky's around that would make a fire when water hit it?" Johnny tried to help cover for Sean.
"Don't waste your breath, Johnny. When it comes to defend yourself against my bullheaded big brother, forget it," Sean relayed.
But then, something dawned on him.
"Hey, Brae, aren't you supposed to be lying in bed half dead?"
"Yeah. And?"
Without another moment of wasted time, Sean goes to his brother, wrapping his arms around him. His eyes begin to well up.
"I'm so glad you're okay, Brae."
As if nothing derogatory has commenced between the two, they share some loving moments.
"Now ain't that sweet," Johnny adds. "He big, bullheaded brother is getting more than I ever got!"
Sean, turning his head, as he leans against his brother's hairy chest, says to Johnny, "Come over here. I want you to meet somebody."
Approaching Braedon, Johnny smiles.
With not much in the way of know how, Sean keys his big brother in, "This is the guy I've decided I want to be with."
"When did this happen?" Johnny asks Sean.
"Shut up and hug my big brother before he gets offended."
Flickering his eyebrows, the eighteen year old cowboy shoves his chest up against Braedon's blond chest fur.
"Okay, that's enough," Sean tells Johnny.
"Ooooh I was just getting to know him!"
Before anything more could transpire, they hear, "Hey, can somebody give us a hand?"
It's Rico to the rescue, in his usual manner to help those in need. He brushes by Wyatt Evans.
"Hey, you're dirty, amigo!"
Taking his hand, rubbing it down his sweaty chest and stomach, Wyatt then swabs it against Rico's chest.
"Here, let me share it with you!"
"What you do amigo? Nooooo."
However, when Wyatt's hand sank down Rico's bare chest, right between his pecs, down his tight trail, he didn't take the act offensively.
"Fine help you are," Braedon says, bumping Rico out of the way, as he helps out with bringing in Peter Manning's and Rosario Daninos' bodies.
"Yeah, don't block progress, Rico," Stormy told him, as he purposely nudged the Latino, passing by.
As the other boys went on to help the newcomers, to the clinic, Rico and Wyatt began to kindle their friendship.
"So, are you top or bottom, amigo?"
"You move kind of fast, Rico. Think I'll just wait and let you find out."
Rico liked the cocky attitude of this guy. He wasn't like so many guys that give in to a dominant top's will.
"I find out tonight, si?"
Smiling, Wyatt sensed he liked Rico's spunk.
"Tonight will be soon enough, to find out how your ass likes my cock."
Rico figured Wyatt had another thing coming, when he began to insinuate things about taking his cherry, Latino ass. Yet, as Rico eyed up the dude, he figured there's a first time for everything. Just maybe he might bend his own rules some, tonight!
%
Continued....
Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.